Lighthouses
by an-extraordinary-muse
Summary: "Katherine Beckett was not made of iron. She was not thick cut steel, tempered in the fires of loss and grief and anger." This blow might be the one that breaks her ... where else would she go when her world is falling apart around her?
1. Chapter 1

**_Author's Note: This is kind of dark, although we get some fluffy goodness toward the end. I do have more planned for this, so if it seems a little cliff hanger-y don't panic! There will be more to come. Let me know what you think ..._**

**_Spoilers: None. We'll just say this is set sometime in season four, but I didn't have a certain timeline in mind when I wrote it._**

**_Disclaimer: Not only are they not mine, I'm okay with not owning them. Because AM is a freaking genius and his team of writers are making freakin magic on the screen. I am content._**

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><p>Kate had always believed herself to be a strong woman.<p>

The years since her mother's death had been hard on her – she would never try to deny that – but she also knew that the tragedy had helped cement her into the mold of the resilient person that she was. Had she been given a choice, Kate never would have chosen that particular lesson, but it was one that she had learned anyway: the lesson of just how much the human spirit could withstand. She had thought about it often since then, the mystery of how a person's spirit could bear such crushing blows without crumbling in on itself. She'd never truly appreciated what it was that made people pick themselves up off the ground and continue on when the world would not blame them for simply laying down and giving up.

When her mother had been taken from them, she'd thought she had come to understand. After all, isn't that what she had done? Chosen to trudge ahead, immersed herself in her anger and dedicated her life to finding the man who was responsible? She had found a new reason to survive just when she thought that there wasn't one. She had found solace in being a police officer, even been determined to make Detective; she had found another float to keep her treading water for just a little longer while all around her the world seemed to fade away. Her father had been lost in a bottle, and for a time Kate had had half a mind to join him there.

The Academy changed all of that. The Academy gave her a weapon with which to fight back; it gave her a reason to keep going. She had found her strength then, and later when she thought about it she wondered if maybe the heartbroken people of the world continued on simply because they were, like her, just too stubborn to give in.

Strength. Such a simple word, layered with so much meaning. Strength of character, strength of conviction, strength of belief … so many uses for such a small word. A fickle word.

Her mother had been strong, for whatever good it had done her in the end.

Her father had been strong, although that didn't keep him out of the bottle.

Kate had thought … she had thought, erringly, that she was strong. She had thought that, of all the character traits that she could claim for herself, strength was her best and most hard won of them all.

She had been wrong.

Katherine Beckett was not made of iron. She was not thick cut steel, tempered in the fires of loss and grief and anger.

She was weak, and broken. She was crumbling, all the towers and fortresses of her heart collapsing in on themselves with every breath that she took.

There was no strength in the world; there was no soul on Earth that could withstand the steady onslaught of life's cruelties. They were all bound to fail, she saw that now – every person who fancied themselves a warrior would soon discover that they were nothing more than a tin soldier, facing a horde of ravenous demons with nothing more than a wooden sword to protect themselves with.

Everyone broke. Some sooner than others, some with shouts and screams of protest and others without so much as a sigh, but sooner or later they all found themselves battered and thrown upon the rocks of unfairness and injustice. The tidal wave would come for them all, eventually.

She wanted to sob. She wanted to cry out and pound her fists against the wall and rage against the harsh reality that had come to stare her in the face.

She wanted to fight.

Instead, she ordered another drink.

The bartender gave her a funny look when she called for another Vodka Tonic, but she ignored him and finished off the glass that she had been holding. She tried to take a mentally tally of how many she'd finished, but she wasn't sure if that had been her fifth or her sixth. Not that she cared, it could have been her tenth and she would still have ordered another.

She took after her father in more ways than one, really: Kate had always been able to hold her liquor.

Another glass appeared in front of her then, but she didn't even bother to lift her head from her hand as she slipped a ten dollar bill to the bartender. She just picked up the glass and took a long pull, relishing the burn of the Vodka as it tracked down her throat.

Kate ran a hand through her hair, readjusted herself on the bar stool, and glanced sidelong down the bar. She had picked a little dive not far from her apartment, although she couldn't recall now what the hell the place was called. She didn't care – for all she knew, this place was purgatory and the Devil himself would soon walk through the door to torture them with their sins.

She snorted derisively at that thought. She had never been a particularly religious person, and the image of the Devil that she conjured up was more like an overly large Satyr than something to be afraid of. Besides, she was already in Purgatory, if such a place even really existed.

If there was a God – and she truly doubted at this point that such a being even existed – if there was a God then he had given her over to the Devil years ago, and he had started torturing her a long time ago. Starting with the death of her mother.

Kate shook her head and took another gulp of her drink. She was too angry to start debating theology, even with herself. The fact was, she didn't care about any of that. Now if only she could find a way to make herself not care about _anything._

She needed to find a way to stop the beating, bleeding thing in her chest that she had once called a heart.

The sharp prick of tears stung her eyes, so she took a deep breath and counted to ten before releasing it again. She was absolutely irate, and tears would only incite her anger further. If she cried now, then she really just might lose what little grip she had left and start tearing at her hair like a crazy woman. She might just stand up and smash her glass against the far wall and start screaming about … well, anything really.

She downed the contents of her glass and called for another.

Kate wondered if this was it. She wondered if this was that last blow, the one that would leave her unhinged and unable to set her world to rights again. She thought of that old turn of phrase "The straw that broke the camel's back" – well, instead of straws she had been dealt stones, and she was fairly certain that her camel had broken a long time ago. The blows kept coming though, didn't they?

"Miss?"

She glanced away from the ring on the counter that she had been tracing with her eyes. The bartender was young, probably younger than her even, and the look on his face was one part concern and one part consternation.

"Is there someone I can call for you?" He offered, sliding a new drink toward her

"I'm fine," She managed, but her voice sounded hollow in her ears

"That's your eighth Vodka Tonic in two hours," He answered, and she felt mild surprise at the number, "And your last."

She had opened her mouth to argue, but the words died on her tongue. What did she think she was going to say? "Excuse me, pup, but I'm trying to drown myself in alcohol so if you could please step back and mind your own business?" Right. Like that was a good idea.

"How about a taxi?" She said instead

The pup of a bartender nodded and moved away to make the phone call. Kate clenched her jaw against another wave of pain wrapped in sheets of icy daggers of anger. She couldn't stop long enough to let her thoughts catch up to her, because if she did then she would surely be lost. The storm was closing in on her, she could feel it building all around her, feel it gaining momentum in her breast, and if she so much as stopped to look back then it would overwhelm her. The wave would crest above her, and she would succumb.

She would give up. All that false strength she had once claimed to possess would leave her in an instant.

"Miss?"

The pup was back.

"Hmm?" She hummed

"Your taxi is outside."

"Thanks."

She quaffed the contents of her glass in one big swig, which left the pup bartender looking at her as if she'd just sprouted eight heads.

"Semester in Kiev," She said as she slid him a five, as if that explained everything

The weather had gone from bad to worse in the two hours she'd spent in the bar. Where it had been somewhat overcast and chilly before, it was now dark and rainy and _cold_. She zipped up her leather jacket and slid into the waiting taxi, rattling off the address effortlessly despite her impaired mental state. The young bartender had probably been right to send her home: the moment she had stood up off that barstool her eight Vodka Tonics had come rushing at her like an angry mob. She was drunk, she knew, but not belligerent. Well, not yet anyway, but she wasn't going to rule out the possibility. The last thing she had eaten had been … shit, what had she eaten?

Pizza. They'd had pizza that afternoon at the station, herself and Castle and Ryan and Esposito. She hadn't eaten since then, though, so she was drunk on a basically empty stomach. Not a great idea.

When the taxi pulled to a stop next to the curb she fished in her jacket pocket for her wallet. She hadn't brought much with her – just her jacket and her wallet, along with her keys – but it took her a minute to pull the item in question out of her pocket. She passed him two twenties, enough to cover the fare and a generous tip, and slid herself out of the backseat. She checked the small of her back out of habit, her brain taking a second to register that she had (wisely) chosen to leave her gun at home.

She started toward the door, and then stopped all of a sudden when she saw the doorman waiting just a few feet in front of her, under an invitingly dry awning.

Her building did not have a doorman.

"Shit."

She was standing in the rain, her hair and her jeans slowly becoming more and more soaking wet as she stared at the fancy numbering on the dark green awning before her.

The very sight of the building was almost more than she could take.

She studied the little puddles of water gathering at her feet as she rode the elevator up, trying her damnedest to keep the anxiety bubbling within her at bay. Every step seemed to sap more and more of her resolve, and by the time she got to the door it was all she could do to hold herself together long enough to knock.

When the door swung open and she found herself looking into the radiant blue depths of his eyes, that last wall inside her heart burst.

"Castle."

Her voice was thick, and the single syllable of his name was all that she could manage. The pain and the alcohol and the rage smashed into one another then, and she could no longer tell if it was rain on her cheeks or tears. The last fraying strings with which she had sown herself together finally snapped beneath the relentless pressure that had plagued them, and before she knew it Kate was literally falling into her partner's arms.

"Kate," He said in terrified surprise, both strong arms reaching out to catch her

He was pulling her into the apartment in a half dragging, half carrying motion that would have been difficult if she hadn't turned to a boneless mess in his arms. He was trying to talk to her, she could hear the timbre of his voice floating down to her from somewhere above her, but she could not form an answer.

Wave upon wave of crushing grief took her then, wreaking havoc on her body and presenting itself in the form of uncontrollable shivering. They were sitting – at least, she thought they were sitting – and she was curled up against him like a kitten lost in a storm. His arms had locked around her like a barrier, and a small part of her consciousness registered that she must be soaking him through, but he did not move.

"Kate."

Her name, he was saying her name with that voice that she had come to adore above all others. He was reaching out to her, she knew, he was calling to her from across the gaping chasm that seemed to stand between them.

"Cancer."

She sobbed then, a true sob that tore itself from deep within her heart. She thought of all those silly children's stories that always counseled against saying the name of the terrifying beast unless you wanted to draw its attention. Even just hearing the word spoken aloud made her feel as though that beast were real; saying it aloud was like cementing it in her life. She felt as though she'd just lost hard won ground.

"My father has cancer," She made herself say, her voice hoarse

She had given life to the demon; she had named it for the whole world to hear.

Kate suddenly felt as though she'd admitted defeat.

She made herself push away from his chest, because Castle had not said anything. Maybe he hadn't heard her; maybe the two hours of trying to drown herself in alcohol had finally caught up with her and she had not been coherent.

When she looked at his face, however, she knew that he had heard her. She had shocked him, she could tell by the way his eyes had widened and the color had leeched from his face.

The alcohol was catching up to her. She could feel it suddenly, could feel the heaviness in her limbs and the spinning in her head. Eight had been too many; years had passed since she'd been a flighty college student in Kiev, what in the hell had she been thinking she could drink like that again?

Castle was whisking her away again, and right about the same time Kate realized that she was about to empty the albeit meager contents of her stomach she found herself perched in front of the toilet.

Castle held her hair away from her face as she vomited. He was talking to her in soothing, even tones, but she couldn't hear what he was saying. Two, three times she vomited, until she had probably given up everything she'd eaten in the last two days, and as she sat on the cool tile floor of Castle's bathroom a memory came to her unbidden. She was twenty years old again, her dad so blitzed that he didn't even know where he was. She had come home from work late and found him in the bathroom, prostrate in a pile of his own vomit. She'd helped him sit up long enough to clean both him and his mess, but he had started vomiting again before she could help him up. Two hours she'd stayed in that bathroom with him, until she was certain that he would rupture something with the force of her puking. He'd cried the entire time, cried and moaned her mother's name and demanded to know why the world had been so cruel as to take her away from him.

She hated that memory. She hated it, and she was suddenly ashamed at the thought of what she must look like now, crouched over Castle's toilet as she fought the dry heaves that kept trying to take over.

Kate thought that maybe she had dozed a little, because suddenly she was opening her eyes to see that Castle was holding out clothes for her.

"You have to get out of those clothes, Kate," He said gently, "They're soaked."

She glanced down at herself – when had she taken off her jacket? – and her jeans and t-shirt were indeed still dark with moisture. She looked back to the dry clothing he was offering: one of his t-shirts and a pair of what looked to be some kind of gym shorts. She took the proffered items and let Castle help her stand. Her head swam and her legs felt like jelly beneath her; she gripped his bicep as she fought to find her balance. She waited, took a breath, and then looked at the dry clothes she held in one hand.

Oh, this was so not going to work.

"Castle," She started, trying not to sway, "This isn't … I can't … I'm gonna need your help with this."

Her admission caught even her off guard, and she could tell from the way that he was looking at her that he was floored. Not that she could blame him … she had pretty much just asked him to undress her.

Literally.

And then redress her drunken ass.

Ugh. She was going to be the death of both of them.

With her heart hammering so loudly against her ribcage that she felt certain the neighbors could probably hear it, Castle helped her undress. She tried not to think about the way his knuckles brushed the tender skin on her sides as he pulled the hem of her shirt up and over her head. She stumbled a little as it came up over her eyes, instinctively reaching out to latch onto his biceps to steady herself. A minute part of her brain was silently thanking Providence that she had picked a cute bra to wear that morning, and then instantly chided herself for that thought. Castle unfolded the t-shirt, and even in her drunken haze Kate could see the way he was pointedly doing everything in his power to _not_ look at her almost naked torso.

Such a gentleman … not that she would kill him if he did sneak a look or two.

_What the hell?_ She did not really just say that, even to herself … _No more vodka_.

Her jeans were another matter entirely. She was fervently trying to convince herself that the goosebumps that erupted all over her skin had _nothing_ to do with the fact that his fingers had just brushed the skin of her stomach. Just like her sudden trembling had nothing to do with the very thought that Richard Castle was at that very moment sliding her jeans down the length of her legs.

_I don't need a Devil to torture me,_ she told herself then, _I'm apparently great at torturing myself. _

By the time she was once again dressed – this time in warm, comfortable clothes that smelled vaguely like the man standing before her – Kate felt certain that her throat had become so parched that it must surely crack and bleed the first time she tried to utter even a single word.

She had not released her hold on his biceps, and when their gazes locked she thought that maybe his dazzling baby blues were a shade or two darker than they normally were.

"Come on," He said, his voice gravelly, "I've got a spare toothbrush."

How she succeeded in brushing her teeth without inadvertently making herself vomit once again was a mystery. She did feel better afterward though, and as she set her toothbrush – a spare that he had been keeping in the medicine cabinet – on the shelf above the sink her eyes raised to the mirror.

She stared at herself for a few seconds before the quirk of a wry smile turned up the corner of her lips.

"You did my hair."

He had pulled her still wet tresses into a rather decent ponytail. When did he do that?

"I used to do Alexis' hair every morning before school. C'mon."

She let him lead her back to the living room, still unsteady and wavering on her feet. By the time they got back to the couch she had a mild case of the spins, so she didn't realize at first that she was once again curled into his broad chest.

For the first time in many years, Kate did not fight. She didn't try to wiggle her way out of the warm arms that encircled her waist and traced little patterns on her back. She didn't shy away from the open, honest affection and comfort that he was providing her. She didn't even try to rationalize it, although that might have had more to do with the eight Vodka Tonics than a conscious decision on her part.

Instead, she took a shuddering breath and tried not to think about the storm that raged within her. She inhaled the scent she had come to attribute as being solely Richard Castle, silently begging his soul to reach out and act as an guiding light to her own lost one.

Tonight, Kate was adrift in a sea of pain and fear.

Tonight, she needed a safe harbor.

"Tomorrow," Castle said softly, his voice rumbling in his chest, "You can tell me everything, and we'll take it from there. But tonight, you just need to rest."

There were literally thousands of things that she could have said to him then, millions of combinations of words she could have put together in response.

"Don't let go," Was all she said, burrowing into him

His arms tightened around her in response.

Tonight, Kate needed a lighthouse to guide her sinking ship through the storm.

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><p><strong><em>Cancer is fucking terrible. My mom just got diagnosed with breast cancer, so everything that Kate was feeling is very real and very personal to me. I probably would have done the go out and get shmammered thing, if it wasn't for the fact that I am currently deployed to Iraq. Stupid, stupid Iraq ...<em>**


	2. Chapter 2

**_Author's Note: I want to thank everyone for the reviews, but mostly I want to say a giant thank you for all the concern and support you have shared. Rationally, I know that I am not alone, and that I am neither the first or the last person to experience these things - but it helps to be reminded, because sometimes that is how it feels. Ya know? So thank you, everyone. It means a lot more than you know. _**

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><p>The rhythm of the raindrops as they pattered against the windows was almost perfectly in sync with the steady beat of the heart beneath her ear.<p>

She couldn't say how long she'd been awake, but when she finally opened her eyes Kate was certain of two things. One: her head was pillowed quite comfortably on Castle's chest, the length of her body tucked snugly against his. Two: she did not feel better.

The world and the nightmare were both waiting for her that morning when she woke. She knew it, rationally, on the part of the former; the latter, she knew because she could feel it trying to drown her even at that very moment.

She thought it was fitting that the rain had not let up outside. Why shouldn't the physical world resemble her metaphorical one? Why shouldn't the real world be a little dimmer, when she felt as though every light in her life had been completely extinguished?

Castle stirred below her, the arms loosely wrapped around her shifting over her back. Those arms had not released their hold on her even once during the night. She didn't have to ask to know that; she had asked him not to let go, and he had not.

Even now, when they were both awake.

That was another thing she knew without having to ask. He'd been awake almost as long as she'd been, but he continued to hold both her and his silence. She was grateful for that, undeniably grateful that he had not insisted on questioning her the moment he opened his eyes. _I'm still adrift in this storm_, her heart whispered to him, _but you can't pull me in to shore. I can't take another pull, even to safety; you'll pull, and I'll break under the strain. I need a guide, a light to point me in the right direction. _

"Just wait for me," She whispered against the soft material of his shirt, "I'll find my way to you."

She hadn't meant to say the last part aloud, but if he heard her then he gave no sign. At least, not immediately anyway; some moments had passed when he started tracing patterns on her back through the shirt, just like he had the night before. She recognized the acknowledgement for what it was, and when she tucked the crown of her head up under his chin she fought back a fresh onslaught of tears.

_Cancer_, a cruel voice japed in her mind, _my father has cancer_.

As if the diagnosis itself wasn't enough of a stab in the heart, life or fate or whatever it was had thrown in a sick twist to go with it: it wasn't even liver cancer. It had absolutely nothing to do with the five years of heavy alcoholism after the loss of her mother. Oh no, her father had prostate cancer.

Liver cancer would have been terrible. She knew that – but she also knew that at least liver cancer would make some sort of tragic sense. She could have wrapped her head around that a little easier, she thought, because he had spent those years in the bottle. The reason would have been just as dark and grim as the diagnosis, but at least it would have made sort of _sense._ Instead … instead this terrible monster had come from somewhere out of the far left field to attack them. Instead of sense, all she had was a particularly evil jest that left her with a heart so heavy it was debilitating. There was no sense in this situation; there was no trail of clues she could follow to find the reason, the underlying motive for _why in the hell this was happening to them._

There was no reason. This was just another one of life's senseless monkey wrenches, another sharp twist in her road that was just waiting for her to overcorrect and go over the railing. She knew that. Her rational, empirical brain knew all of that.

Her wounded, bleeding, _foolish_ heart knew only that this was _wrong_, that it was under attack and it was full to the brim with biting pain and anger. The hidden part of her that housed the little girl inside her heart just kept screaming for reasons, demanding answers and explanations that would never come.

"He called me," She began then, because suddenly the words were there and she had to get them out, "He called me last week, asked if we could go to lunch, but I told him I was busy. When he called me yesterday … I was tired and I just wanted to take a hot bath and relax and … he just dropped the bomb. Prostate cancer."

Castle cleared his throat. "How long has he known?"

"A few weeks. I don't even know how they caught it – I think he may have told me, but I was so shocked I was barely listening. I tried to … I had to get out, and I just found some dive bar and started ordering drinks. I meant to go home, but I must have given the taxi driver your address instead, and when I got out and saw where I was …"

"I'm glad you came here, Kate," He said softly, gently

"_Cancer_, Castle. He has _cancer_. It doesn't make any sense!"

Her voice had started breaking toward the end, and she barely had enough time to turn her face into his chest before a few adamant tears fell from her eyes. She took a deep, shuddering breath, feeling the strong arms press her more securely against the broad expanse of his chest. _Stop crying_, she told herself sternly, _get a hold of yourself and figure out what needs to be done. Control, Kate; take control._

How she wanted to! Every independent, rational iota of her person told her to draw herself up that very instant and take control of the situation, assert her power over the circumstances; she was a Detective, a leader, and a warrior. And yet … and yet she found herself unable to meet the task. She found herself suddenly bereft of her weapons, without even ground to stand on. How could she take control of a situation like this? How could she find it in her to be strong and resilient when, inside, all she really wanted to do was drop her warrior's shield and cry with a child's abandon?

"I can't do this, Castle," She cried into his shirt

"Let go," His warm voice whispered against her hair, "Let go, Kate. I'm here; you're safe."

The tears and the grief were vicious in their manifestation. The power of her sobs – honest, unadulterated sobs from the deep reaches of her very soul – shook her small frame with an almost fearful violence. The grief felt as though it would last forever: it was the grief for her father, and then it seemed to swell until it was all the grief she had ever felt, and ever denied. The pain tasted of the loss of her mother, Montgomery, Royce and now … and now, the looming possibility of the loss of her father. Too much loss, too much grief … she was destined to be consumed.

How long did she stay like that? How long did she spend clinging to Richard Castle as if he were the only thing tethering her to herself, to the life and the world they shared? She could not say. Tether her he did, however, patient and tender as she surrendered herself to her vulnerability. Never before had she allowed him in so far past her walls; never before had she trusted him so completely with the tattered remains of her eggshell heart.

Never before had he been gentler; never before had he taken her heart, her very spirit so lightly in hand and willed it safe with all the force of his being. For all her secrecy, for all her stern determination to deny it outwardly, the tenderness of Kate's heart had always been something Castle treasured. The depths of her feelings were uncharted and unseen, perhaps even by herself; beneath her tough cop exterior and the gallows humor she had adopted, Kate's heart was indescribably fragile.

All the crying, mixed in with the pressure that accompanied her hangover, had given Kate a massive headache. By the time her tears had ceased the pounding had begun, so steady that it made her eyes hurt.

"Do you have Ibuprofen?" She asked in a hoarse voice

"Of course."

His lips brushed against her forehead then, and the sweetness of it made her sigh. Underneath her ear, his heart pounded out the same steady, familiar rhythm that had lulled her to sleep the night before.

"Kate?"

"Hmm?"

"We have to get up if you want the Ibuprofen."

"I know." _I don't want to move._

She untangled herself from him, pulling herself up onto unsteady feet. The pounding in her head seemed to be the only manifestation of her hangover so far, which she was thankful for. She moved somewhat slowly to look out the window at the city, listening to the sounds of Castle getting up off the couch. The city was still draped in gray clouds and rain; when she glanced at her watch, she was surprised to see it was nearly eleven.

"Hey."

He was near, just a few inches behind her, and his breath tickled her ear when he spoke. She glanced over her shoulder at him; his hand came to settle at the small of her back, and she allowed the pressure he exerted there to guide her into the kitchen.

She took a seat on one of the stools at the kitchen bar and watched quietly as Castle retrieved a glass of water and a bottle of Ibuprofen. He placed both in front of her, and then set about brewing a pot of coffee. She felt as if watching his movements somehow helped settling her mind, as if watching his morning pattern could help center her once more. She was broken, wounded, but life had not stopped; her partner was only a few feet away from her, and despite how helpless she felt he seemed perfectly certain of what to do and how to act.

She was undyingly grateful that in these moments, when Kate herself felt as if she were fraying and unraveling, Castle was perfectly grounded and composed.

He could be grounded and reasonable enough for the both of them.

Here was her guide in the storm.

Here was her lighthouse.

If anyone could pull her through this, it would be Richard Castle. She just had to trust him, have faith that he would guide her away from the rocks that would surely dash her to pieces.

She had never trusted anyone the way she trusted him.

Breakfast was coffee, bagels and freshly sliced apples. He set it all out before her and then seated himself on the adjacent stool. The prospect of food had not entered into her thoughts before then, but she figured that getting something solid into her stomach was probably a good idea. She grabbed a few apple slices and popped one into her mouth as she went about spreading cream cheese on her bagel.

"Where are Alexis and Martha?" She asked after some time had passed

"Ashley is in town this weekend, so Alexis was out of the house early this morning. And who knows where my intrepid mother is? I suspect we will be witnessing her walk of shame soon."

The ghost of a smile graced her features, and she was mildly surprised that she could still manage even that much. A smile had obviously been what he was going for, though, because he gave her a small but warm one in return and reached over to squeeze her hand briefly.

"Thank you, Castle," She said quietly

"No thanks necessary," He said seriously, "Unless it's coming from me."

"Why would you be thanking me?" She inquired

"For coming here. For trusting me enough to let me take care of you."

She had no answer for that. What could she have said? That it had been unintentional? That somehow, her instincts had known to guide her to a safe haven that she had not even considered? That her heart, treacherous, mischievous thing that it was, had led her to the one other heart in the one other person that seemed to be always calling out to her?

She said nothing, because there was nothing to say.

"How's the headache?" He asked

"Getting better. I think the food may have helped, and the coffee."

"Good. First things first: I'm going to hop in the shower and change, and then we'll head to your apartment so you can do the same. You'll probably have to wear my clothes home; I wasn't able to get yours into the dryer, so they are still soaked. Oh, and you'll want to call your dad, let him know we're coming."

"What?" She replied, surprised

"I know you've been dealt a blow, Kate, but you need to see your dad, and he you. And this way, I can ask for all the information he has so far and relay it on. The appointment will go much quicker that way."

"What appointment?"

"The one I'm about to set up. Now finish your breakfast."

Then he was up and gone, content to leave her alone with her thoughts and her bagel. She could hear him on the phone some minutes later, although she could only make out bits and pieces of the conversation. Then the shower was turned on, and there was nothing more to hear.

This was a side of Richard Castle that she rarely got to see: the assertive, focused side that knew exactly what needed to be done and how to do it. She imagined this was the side that Martha and Alexis so regularly saw; this was the other, more serious side of the playful, witty writer that she had spent the last few years working with. He was collected, firm, decided: the exact opposite of his usual light hearted self.

He was taking charge of the situation that had left her reeling, and for once she was glad to let him.

By the time he emerged from his bedroom, Kate had cleaned up the remnants of their small breakfast and made herself as presentable as she could manage. She'd brushed her teeth again and redid her hair; she'd tried to don her own clothing, but he had been right about it still being soaked. She'd considered just putting it on anyway and dealing with it, but wet clothes were uncomfortable in the best situations and chilling in the worst, and it was still raining outside. She did look a bit silly in his overlarge t-shirt and gym shorts, but what did she care? So instead she'd just wrapped her clothes in a tight swaddle and slipped them into a plastic bag she found underneath the kitchen sink.

"Ready?" He asked

"Yeah," She murmured, glancing around to make sure she had everything

He was ushering her out the door when one of his warm hands came to rest at the small of her back, a gentle guide that she was not surprised to find that she enjoyed.

His touch grounded her. She needed it; she needed the reminder that she was not alone, she needed the warmth of his being to infuse her own.

"You're trembling."

His voice was quiet and soft, even in the almost silence of the elevator. She had not realized that she had indeed begun to tremble, but his hand had not left the small of her back so of course he noticed.

"What if this is it, Rick?" She managed to whisper, his first name falling from her lips of its own accord, "What if this is the one that breaks me?"

She had never shared a particularly physical relationship with Castle; more often than not they conveyed their feelings with veiled looks or private words rather than an actual touch. Kate could probably count the number of times they had touched on one hand, maybe two at the most. She had spared some thought for this phenomenon, although not much, and the only conclusion that she had been able to reach was that it was the passion. Their passion for each other was something that they could deny, or ignore, or subjugate as long as they never moved past lingering gazes and words with hidden meanings. Physical contact, however, the mere act of simply touching one another was nearly enough to overrun them both. She had not truly realized it – or maybe become aware of it, as it were – until after they'd kissed. Her passion, the fire that had awakened to singe her soul as their lips moved against each other had taken her by force. She had known then that their little charade could not withstand the force of such feelings; even the act of brushing his hand with her own left her feeling seared.

So she had refrained from actually touching him, because she could not do so without exerting every ounce of self-control she had to keep from melting into him.

In the last twenty-four hours, however, her little to no contact rule had been pretty much abolished. She had learned something new in those hours: that while Richard Castle's touch could incite a burning passion in almost corner of her body, it could also provide solace, reassurance and strength. Now that she had allowed herself to tumble headlong into his embrace, she was aware of something else: he seemed determined to keep her there.

Frightening in its implications was the realization that she _did not intend to fight him_. She needed his touch, needed the warm strong hand at her back.

Even that realization, however, even all of those thoughts and her understanding of what drove them did not prepare her for what happened next.

The hand of his that had been at the small of her back slid easily around her slim waist and came to rest against her stomach, and then he was literally pulling her backwards and into his chest. She would have gasped in surprise if the surprise itself hadn't been so overwhelming; the act was so primal, so decidedly possessive and unlike the Richard Castle that she worked with every day …

"You won't break," He said darkly, his mouth so near her ear that his lips were nearly brushing the skin, "And if you do, I'll be here to catch the pieces."

Somewhere amidst the pain and fear and grief for her father's situation, somewhere beyond the weary warrior and the frightened daughter, the woman in Kate stirred. Somewhere amidst the grey storm of the nightmare, a fire kindled and sprung to life with a heat and fierceness all its own.

When his hand had left nothing more than a warm spot on the skin of her stomach, Kate fought back a shiver of entirely different origins.

_What the hell just happened?_


	3. Chapter 3

**_Author's Note: Again, guys, thank you so much for all your kind words, and I am glad that you are enjoying this. In this chapter, I took a few liberties: I was not able to be with my mother when she spoke to the Oncologist and all that, so the timeline might be a little off. Sorry about that; roll with me on this. :) Hope you like this new chapter!_**

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><p>Castle had seen his partner in a multitude of situations, from the mundane to the truly terrifying. He thought he could rightfully boast to knowing almost every expression on her face, and every inflection of her smooth honey voice; he could read all her tells, and discern just from her stance and posture what she was thinking or feeling. His knowledge of Kate Beckett could – and did, in fact, fill a book. Several of them.<p>

In the last twenty-four hours, however, Castle had been reminded that there were a whole slew of things that he did not know about the woman next to him. For example, while he had seen her frightened – more than once – he had never before seen the look of terror she was now trying to subdue; he had seen her frustrated, blocked, confused … but he had had never seen her look as lost as she did now. This was Kate Beckett, his partner, his tireless Detective, his inspiration and muse and endless mystery.

Looking at her now, he almost could not reconcile himself to the fact that she was the same woman. Looking at her now … well, that wall of hers be damned; he knew what she needed of him. She may not have even known, not on an entirely conscious level at least, but he knew. She had been three sheets to the wind when she'd shown up at his door the night before, but those wide hazel eyes of hers had been practically screaming at him: _help me._

He had every intention of doing exactly that.

The part of him that was not entirely focused on the task at hand was quietly and secretly rejoicing that she had come to him. He would never own it, but that deep primal part of him that was all testosterone and caveman grunts had recognized a damsel in distress and answered accordingly. He would _never_ admit to that, however, not because he was ashamed of it but because he knew the sort of deep seated aversion Kate would have to being called a "damsel in distress". That was alright by him though, because even more important than how he had reacted or how she would take it later was the realization that something had been proven in those moments. Something had been confirmed to him last night, in a way and on a level that most people would not understand; in fact, he had not realized it until that very morning in the shower.

Despite her wall, despite all their fumbles and excuses and second-guessing, he and Katherine Beckett belonged to one another. Not in that "I'm claiming you as a piece of property" way that every human being naturally refused, but in that "my heart sings solely for yours alone to hear" sort of way; the way that would guide her unwittingly to his doorstep because underneath the layers of anguish her heart knew and recognized his own as the only hope of salvation.

Devastated, inconsolable, she had reached out for him – and he had answered.

"Rick?"

He glanced up and found himself looking at a doctor. He stood immediately, Kate only seconds behind him.

"Scott, thank you again for seeing us," Richard said with a small smile and a handshake

"Don't mention it," The doctor answered, "Would the two of you like to come to my office? Jim and I have finished going over his medical record."

"Absolutely," He said graciously

He fell into step just a few seconds behind Kate, his hand automatically going to rest at the small of her back as he did so. She either did not notice, or did not mind its presence there.

Scott McIntosh was a tall man, not much older than Castle with a mop of sandy blonde hair that was smartly cut and laughing chocolate eyes. The two men had met several years ago in the course of Castle's research for one of his early Derek Storm novels, and Castle had kept the relationship open over the intervening years. They got along surprisingly well despite the minor age difference and the major career difference.

Scott's Ivy League education and God given brilliance had also given him the distinction of being one of New York's leading oncologists, and the first person Castle had called that morning after learning of Jim Beckett's diagnosis.

When they entered Scott's office, Castle guided his partner to the vacant seat next to the one her father occupied. Jim looked far more composed than his daughter, but Castle thought that was probably because he was over the initial shock of the situation. He'd known for a few weeks already, whereas the horror was still fresh and raw for Kate.

Jim extended one hand towards his daughter, which she immediately took. Castle settled for leaning one hip against Kate's chair, close enough to touch but far enough away to not be oppressive.

"So," Scott began as he reseated himself behind his large oak desk, "First things first: the cancer was caught early, so that's one point in our corner. Early detection can truly make all the difference, and science has given us many new treatment options. I know cancer is a grim word, but in your case, Jim, I am hopeful."

Next to him, Castle caught the slight sag of Kate's shoulders out of the corner of his eye. The barest hint of the first signs of relief, but they heartened him. Scott kept talking, but since he wasn't actually addressing him Castle figured it wouldn't really mattered if he took the moment to take in the state of his partner and her father.

Jim was getting older, yes, but he was still a hale and hearty man, which would undoubtedly work in his favor. Castle couldn't recall of any instance in the last four years that Kate had mentioned her father being sick, so he was willing to assume that her father was a man blessed with a good immune system, another plus. More importantly, the cancer had been caught early. All of these were good things.

Kate seemed to realize these things as well, because as Scott continued to inform them of the situation the tension in her spine seemed to dissipate. She began to visibly relax, as if the cement in her veins were slowly converting itself back into blood.

"Now, Jim," Scott was saying as Castle pulled himself back into the conversation, "I know you had mentioned that your mother had breast cancer?"

"Yes, when I was a young man," Jim answered

"Did anyone else in your family have cancer?"

"My grandmother died of ovarian cancer."

"Hmm," Scott hummed, lacing his hands together and glancing again at the folder in front of him

Castle immediately perked up: he knew that hum; it was one of Scott's giveaways that he was thinking something through.

"Hmm?" He queried aloud, "I don't like that. You only hum when you think you've found something."

Scott looked to Castle first, and the writer saw a brief flicker of something he didn't like. The doctor glanced away from him to Kate, and then let his eyes come to rest on Jim.

"I have to be honest, Jim, I don't like that. That makes three consecutive generations of cancer in your family, including yourself. From a medical standpoint, that raises a few questions. With your permission, I'd like to perform a blood test … and on you as well, Ms. Beckett."

"What?" She and Castle exclaimed in unison

"It's a precaution," Scott answered evenly, calmly, "I want to test you for what some people call the Cancer Gene."

"The Cancer Gene?" Kate repeated

"Doctors have labeled it the BRCA 1 and BRCA 2 gene; it's a mutation in a person's genetic makeup. The mutation is hereditary, and capable of being passed on by either mother or father. I don't want to frighten you with numbers, but I'm one of those silly doctors who likes to be completely honest with my patients. Carriers of the BRCA 1 gene have a ninety percent chance of having cancer at some point in their lives."

Kate's breath left her in a whoosh. She slumped back into her chair in a way that made Castle think of being physically struck.

"So, you're saying that if I have this gene, then Katie will have it as well?" Jim asked

"Most likely. There have been cases where the gene does not pass on to the child, even when it is present in one of the parents, but that is not the norm."

"You're telling me that I have a ninety percent chance of having cancer in my life?" Kate asked, and Castle heard the quiver she was trying to hide

"No. I'm telling you that I would like to test you both for the gene, as a precaution. Once we have the results, we can deal with them as they fall."

"And it's just a blood test?" Castle questioned, finding his voice despite the lump in his throat, "How long before the results are in?"

"It generally takes anywhere from four days to a week, but I can try and get a rush on them," Scott told him

"I don't think my insurance will cover …" Kate began

"Damn your insurance," Castle said, perhaps a little too forcefully because Kate looked at him for the first time in several minutes, "Take the test." Then, to Scott, "Money is no object."

"Castle," She started

"This is not open for discussion, Kate," And his voice was both kind and steely

"Rick, if you'd like to just hang tight here in the office," Scott cut in before more could be said, "Jim, Ms. Beckett, if you'd follow me please. I'll take you to one of the nurses so we can take some blood, and then I think we'll be done for today."

Kate looked like she was about to stay and make an argument, but he fixed her with a look that was a mixture of encouragement and plea and adamancy. She gave him a weak glare, but followed her father and Scott out of the office.

When they were gone, Castle found himself floating toward the large window that covered one wall of Scott's impressive office. He stood looking out at the city that sprawled out before him, but he doubted that he was actually seeing anything. His mind seemed determined to replay everything that Scott had just told them, with special emphasis on the part about Kate possibly being at risk for cancer.

Rick was naturally an upbeat, optimistic person, and the first to look for a silver lining in any situation. He was what his college English professor had once referred to as a "bouncer": someone who got knocked down, and then bounced back soon after. He could make light of almost any situation; it was a talent that he had spent many an hour refining and putting to use, especially in his adult life.

Right then, however, alone in the warm golden sunlight that splashed through the window, all Castle could think about was the possibility of Kate having cancer. _His_ Kate: stubborn, beautiful, brilliant Kate.

The idea that Kate's body – lithe, sexy, _healthy_ – could one day start to attack itself … no, that was unthinkable.

Kate couldn't have cancer; she was not done with her life. _They_ were not done – hell, they had really never even _started._ He was not going to give her up, not to another person and most assuredly _not_ to something as evil as cancer. Not now, not in ten years, _not ever._

Castle took a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair. How must she be feeling? How much was she going to be expected to handle? She'd barely just found out about her father, and now she was being told that she may or may not be at risk? Sure, rationally every one knew that they could be at risk for cancer, just like rationally every one knew that they could get hit by a car on their lunch hour. But to actually _know_, to be told that you were most likely going to have to deal with this terrible disease at some point or another? How exactly were you supposed to deal with that?

Lost as he was in his own musings, Castle did not hear the door open or close. All he knew was that one minute he was staring listlessly at the broad blue sky outside the window, and the next Kate was standing so close that her shoulder was brushing his arm. She did not immediately speak, and they passed several long moments standing there in pregnant silence.

"Castle," She said finally, and her voice was raw in a way that would have made him shiver under different circumstances, "You can't pay for all of this."

He looked away from the city and found her eyes, shining and frightened and warm. She looked beautiful despite her rough night the night before, the long chestnut tresses that he loved falling in lazy curls around her shoulders. She was beautiful, this partner of his.

"I won't," He said calmly, "Just what insurance won't cover."

"Not even that," She said firmly, "You've already done so much for me, Rick; I won't let you add this to the list."

He turned to face her more fully, his literary mind throwing hundreds of descriptive sentences across his brain to mark the way the sunlight danced in her hair and curled gossamer fingers around the smooth planes of her face. He could write hundreds of books about this woman and never catch her in a way that he was satisfied with. He could use every beautiful description he had it in him to create and still he would not have done her justice.

"There is no list, Kate," He said quietly, watching the way her eyes roamed his face and then returned to his, "There is no score keeping. Everything I've done has been because I wanted to do it, for you."

He could tell that his words had struck a chord with her in the way she tilted her head down just so, so that their eyes no longer met. She was bothered, he knew, struggling inwardly with the pride that did not want to take his money and the fear that almost begged her to do exactly that.

"It's so much money," She said finally, her voice whisper light and uncertain

"Hey," He said just as softly, hooking a finger under her chin and drawing her brilliant hazel eyes to him, "If it's money you're worried about, you can stop. I may not make the list of 'World's Richest People', but I promise that neither myself nor Alexis will ever be hurting for money."

"Castle," She said brokenly, and he could see the stress in the lines of her body

She could find nothing else to say, and the broken way she'd said his name coupled with the shell shocked look he saw in her eyes then had him pulling her against his chest instantly. She did not fight, simply tucked herself into his chest and wrapped her arms around him, tucking the crown of her head up under his chin. He rubbed his hands against the length of her back, willing some of his strength into her. This close he could smell her, all cherries and sunshine and _warmth_; he dropped a kiss against her hair and felt her let out a breath against him.

"What is money compared to your health, Kate?" He asked quietly, "Compared to your father's life? The last thing you or your father needs to worry about right now is money. But, if it'll make you feel better, just think of it as your share."

"My share? Of what?" She asked in a muffled voice

"The profits from Nikki Heat."

She pulled away from him then, not completely, but enough so that she could look him in the eye once again.

"The what?" She asked dryly

He couldn't resist a smile at the way she'd asked, all disbelief and wry humor.

"You heard me. I've been pestering you for four years, Kate, literally using your life as a book. Isn't it only fair that you should reap some of the rewards? Nikki Heat is as much your character as she is mine."

He had not been prepared for tears, so when the first pioneering tear sailed down across her cheek his stomach gave a small flip. He might have asked her if he'd done something wrong, but she was burying herself in his chest once more in what he knew was an attempt to both hide her tears and cut them off. She held him tighter, and her body conveyed what her tongue could not.

That was how Jim found them, locked in each other's embrace in front of the wide office window. The older man smiled when he saw them and crossed the room; by the time he reached where they stood, Kate had untangled herself from Castle so that she could wrap her father in a hug.

"I'm sorry, Dad," Kate said against her father's shoulder

"For what, Katie?"

"For not calling you back sooner, for not making time, for …"

"Katherine," Jim scolded in his best fatherly tone, "You stop that right now, young lady. You have nothing to apologize for. You are a very busy Detective, and there is nothing wrong with that. The important thing is that you're here now, and we're together."

"I know, Dad, but it doesn't feel like enough," She admitted

"You being here, Katie, that's always enough. Look at me."

Her father held her away from him ever so slightly, in that way parents perfected when their children were little and had come to them hysterical over some incident or another. Kate had managed to get a hold of her tears, but their tracks were evident in the translucent lines that shimmered in the sunlight.

"I know you, bug," He said gently, using her childhood moniker, "I know you feel like you have to be strong for me, and that you shouldn't be crying or sad or angry, and I am here to tell you that you are wrong. This is a big scary thing we're going through; it's alright to breakdown and be frightened. Your dad is a strong old goat, Katie, and I don't need you to be strong for me. I don't need you to hide your feelings: we can be scared and angry and sad together. That doesn't make you less of a person, okay? It doesn't make you weak. You understand me, bug?"

Kate smiled, her first of the day. He sounded so much like he had when she was just a rambunctious teen, hell bent on giving her parents a hard time. The tone was the same, the knowingly firm look in his eyes the same one she had seen more times than she could count.

"I hear you, Dad."

"Good."

Jim smiled and planted a firm kiss on his daughter's forehead, reassured that she had taken his words to heart. When she'd given him another watery smile, he released her and took a step past her to address the man who had waited quietly by the window.

"Rick," He said, and gave the writer a great big hug, "Thank you, for all of this. I would protest and make an argument about why you shouldn't have, but I'm sure Katie has beat me to it."

"She has," Rick answered with a smile, "And I'll tell you the same thing I told her: Don't mention it. Now, how about we rustle up some grub?"

His quip had the desired effect of pulling a laugh from Kate's father, and Kate herself tossed an arched eyebrow in his direction.

"'Rustle up some grub', Castle?" She queried, "Can't you just say 'Get some lunch'?"

"I'm a writer. 'Get some lunch' is boring. 'Rustle up some grub' is more … adventurous."

"And 'Until Tomorrow' is more hopeful," She retorted

"Detective, you remembered!" He said in mock excitement, "I'm touched."

Even Kate managed a chuckle at that.

"Next time you go visit your mom, Katie, you should be sure to thank her," Jim said as the three of them made their way out of the office

"For what?" His daughter asked

"For Rick, of course. I have no doubt in my mind that Johanna is responsible for bringing the two of you together, little stinker of an angel that she is. Your mother was always a meddler."

Either Jim Beckett was unaware what sort of sensation his words had caused, or he was an expert at feigning innocent ignorance. Regardless, he had made it several feet down the hall while a very thunderstruck, very breathless Kate was left immobile in the hospital hallway, staring daggers into the azure depths of her partner's equally surprised eyes.

"Katie?" Her dad called down the hall, "You two coming?"

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><p><strong><em>Secondary AN: The BRCA 1 and 2 genes are real, though I'm sure some of you already knew that. The description of this gene is true, and I explained it in almost the same way that my mother's oncologist explained it to her. Unfortunately, my mother has that gene, so when I get home I have to get tested for it as well.<em>**

**_Also, when Jim talks to Katie about visiting her mother, I meant visiting her grave. Not sure if that came through clearly or not._**


	4. Chapter 4

_**Author's Note: This is a short one, which is misleading because it took me like three days to write it. :-P Thank you everyone for your words of support and well-wishing. It means a lot to me. **_

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><p>She was alone when it happened.<p>

The day had been a long and arduous one, her current inability to sleep easily through even a single night apparent in the sluggishness of her movements. She had soldiered through though, much the same as she always did, and even allowed the boys to persuade her into calling it an early evening.

All three of them. She didn't know whether to be grateful to them, or chagrined at the fact that all three of them had ganged up on her. So far, she was going with grateful.

She'd come home, ran a hot bath and poured a glass of her favorite red wine. Her heart was still heavy with the knowledge of her father's plight, but she liked to think that she had regained much of her composure and control. Monday had been particularly rough after the tumult of the weekend, but in typical Kate Beckett fashion she'd managed to string herself together just enough to keep up appearances.

Appearances. Who was she kidding? Ryan and Esposito may not have known exactly what was going on, but they knew her well enough to know that something was wrong. Castle … well, he had backed off a little, in deference to both her personal and professional sensibilities, but she wasn't fooled. The assertive, watchful, take-no-prisoners Castle was lurking just behind those baby blues, patiently biding his time until he was needed again.

She was grateful for that too.

The whole situation – the grim reality of her father's situation, and the idea that she could one undetermined day find herself in the same one – was weighing on both her thoughts and her heart. She would find herself thinking heavy, dark thoughts at strange times, seemingly triggered by nothing.

That's how she had been all night.

By the time she'd gotten out of the bath, those strings she'd wound so tightly around herself to keep the façade together were once again frayed and loosening. The darkness was once again lacing its way through her heart, tingeing her thoughts with shades of gray.

The clock told her it was just past nine, and she still had not eaten dinner.

The sharp trill of her phone startled her heart into her throat. She reached for the receiver, nearly missed, and slammed her finger into the little green button.

"Hello?"

"Hey, bug," Her father answered

"Hi, Dad."

"You just get home from work?"

"A little bit ago," She answered, curling herself into her couch cushions

"How was it?"

"Long," She answered with a tired sigh

"Listen, bug, I wanted to do this in person, but I got held up at work today, and this isn't the kind of thing that I want to draw out."

Her heart came screeching to a halt and then plunged wildly out of her chest and through the floor of her apartment; by the time it came back to her, a surge of furious adrenaline had ignited in her veins and had her trembling furiously.

This was not good.

No. _No, no, no, no._

"The Doc called me today, Katie. Our test results came in. He was going to call you too, but I told him I wanted to be the one to tell you."

"Dad," She said, and her voice cracked and it sounded startlingly like a plea

"I have the cancer gene, Katie. And so do you."

_And so do you._

_I have the cancer gene …_

_And so do you._

Surely that pressure must be her heart forcibly ripping its way through muscle and tissue and rib cage in its animalistic desire to free itself from her body. Her weak, treacherous, traitorous body.

"Katie?"

"Dad, I … can you … I'll call you back, okay?"

She couldn't wait to hear his response. She couldn't even wait to drop the phone before she was launching herself off the couch, the discordant thrum of what was most certainly every emotion she'd ever felt vibrating through her body. She took a deep, ragged breath that sounded despairingly close to a sob.

_No._ She could not do that. She could not give in to it; she absolutely could not release the wraiths that were screaming in her soul. They would consume her, terrorize her, and drag her down into the fathomless pit of their darkness. She knew that place: it held her mother, Montgomery, Royce … it held too much, and not enough. Never enough.

The scope and depth of her emotional and mental upheaval was simply too much for her to bear, however, and only belatedly did Kate realize what was happening.

She was auto-destructing.

Too much fear and confusion, too much all encompassing horror … all melding itself into a seamless ribbon of rage.

Underneath the heat of her anger, a tiny beacon of light in the typhoon, her ravaged soul was singing a lament: a low, mournful note that she recognized in a very primal way. Castle. Her soul was singing for him, calling out to its complement and straining to hear the answering melody.

She paced as she held the phone to her ear and listened to the sound of the other line ringing.

She didn't have to wait long.

"Kate?"

The sound of his voice, a comfort all on its own, swept over her.

"Castle," Was all she managed, her voice caught between a sob and a wail

"Where are you?" He demanded

"Home," She managed

"Stay there, I'm on my way."

She wasn't sure which of them hung up, only that the line had been dead for several seconds by the time she realized it.

_Calm down, Kate, _she told herself. _It's just a gene. It doesn't mean that you will get cancer – nothing in life is guaranteed. It just means that you are more at risk. It just means …_ but there her rationality failed her. There her fear and shock refused to be dampened or silenced; all her skill in denial and control was useless against the beast that was even then devouring her.

What did this mean for her father?

What did this mean for her?

A cracked, primal sob clawed its way up her throat and tore through the silence of her apartment. _Don't let go, Kate,_ a voice whispered from somewhere in her mind, _close it off. If you start, you'll never stop. _

Right: the wall. Put it behind the wall, that massive stone and mortar expanse that had been constructed sometime after her mother's death. The broad expanse of solid protection that curled around her heart and kept a firm barrier between herself and … well, everything.

_Behind the wall; bury it, Kate. Smother it, drown it …_

Self -defense, it was all in self- defense: she was in survival mode now, the overwhelming fear and confusion driving her into a state of self-preservation.

_I can't do this! I can't …_

"Kate!"

Castle! Her mind seized on his name like a lifeline, and she was across the room and opening the door without being conscious of moving from her previous spot. He was just on the other side of that door, _the wrong side,_ and she had to get him because … because of everything, and because she suddenly knew, passionately, irrevocably knew that he should never have been on any side but the one she was on.

The door opened, and her eyes found and locked on to the wide baby blue ones in front of her. He was disheveled and intense looking, but collected and calm in a way that she was not.

"Castle."

She was crumbling under the weight of her own storm, crumbling under the strain of trying to keep it together and stay standing and do it all without even the smallest form of help.

Richard Castle caught her – again – always – and folded her into his warm embrace, carrying her across her apartment to curl them both into the couch. Her hands gripped the lapels of his jacket, her head pillowing itself against his chest just over his heartbeat.

"Castle," She said again, his name like a prayer against her lips

"I'm here, Kate," He answered, his voice warm and soothing above her, "I've got you."

She shuddered once, twice, and then she was lost to everything except the feel of Castle's body against her and the devastating release of her grief. She had mistakenly believed herself to be in control again just an hour or so before, a belief that had been shattered in just a few seconds, with just a few words.

_And so do you._

What was going to happen to her now? Where did she go from here? Was this how her father had felt when he was told he had cancer? Who had been there to comfort him – how had he dealt with such a blow? So many questions without answers.

What the hell was that sound?

Castle's arms tightened around her, his head coming to rest against her own as his hands rubbed slow circles against the expanse of her back. The sound was coming from her: she was sobbing.

She was sobbing, and she was safe. Completely, wonderfully safe.

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><p>She must have cried herself to sleep, because when she opened her eyes sometime later she was still curled into the warmth of Castle's chest. His heartbeat was steady and rhythmic underneath her ear, a wonderfully natural lullaby. Her fingers ached from clutching so tightly to his lapels; she uncurled them and let both hands fall away from his clothing, wincing at the ache in the small muscles of her fingers.<p>

She raised her head slowly, hating the thick and fogged feeling that was always left behind after a bout of intense crying. She was closer than she had realized, nearly cheek to cheek with Castle before she leaned away to look at him. He was still wide awake, both strong arms holding her tight against his chest, blue eyes watching her intently.

"What time is it?" She asked, her voice thick with tears and sleep

"Late," He answered simply, his fingers brushing her cheek as he swept away a lock of her hair, "Come on."

She unfolded herself and stood, waiting for him to do the same and then letting him take her hand without so much as a word. He led her down the hall to her bedroom – she didn't put up a fight when he pulled back her sheets and comforter, just climbed into the delicious comfort of her bed. He pulled the blanket up around her, and then stepped away to turn off the lights.

"I'll be in the living room if you need me," He said quietly, moving toward the door

"Castle?"

"Hmm?" He hummed, stopping to turn and look at her

She took a deep breath, closed her eyes for a second, and then opened them again. She made sure she was holding his gaze, and then said, "I need you."

Three simple words that had cost her no small amount of effort to voice; three small words that had a profound effect on the man standing across from her. She could see it in the lines of his body, in the sudden stillness of his chest that told her he was holding his breath. She had surprised him.

She had surprised them both.

She held out one hand, watching as he moved slowly across the floor to take it. She could see the doubt in his face, the way his eyes searched her for any signs of recrimination or wariness. She kept his gaze and left her hand extended, a secret part of her afraid that he would turn away. He continued to approach, however, and just a few seconds later he was sliding one strong hand into her smaller one.

Kate surprised them both again – well, mostly him, because she had already decided on her course of action. She tugged insistently on his hand, pulling a somewhat stunned Richard Castle down onto the bed beside her.

"Stay with me," She whispered

His eyes, brilliant even in the darkness of her bedroom, looked at her questioningly. She gave no explanations, and hoped that he would not ask for one; tonight, she did not want to think. Tonight, she was raw and wounded – she was vulnerable. She wanted nothing more than to curl into his side and lose herself in the exploration of her unconscious mind.

She wanted to sleep, and forget the terror that currently shadowed her waking moments.

And she wanted to know that Castle was with her, close enough to feel the rise of his chest with every beat and listen to the steady hum of his heartbeat.

That vein of unspoken thought that they always seemed to share seemed to flare to life then, and he apparently understood exactly what she needed. He kicked off both shoes, letting them fall ungracefully to the floor beside her bed, and then wiggled himself out of his sweater. He was wearing a dark t-shirt underneath, the exact color of which she could not make out, but it occurred to her then that she had rarely seen him in anything but a button up shirt or a nice suit. She liked the more informal look of the t-shirt: it felt more … intimate.

And then Kate surprised even herself by holding the comforter away from her body, the silent signal for him to join her under the blanket. This time, however, he did not hesitate: he sidled under the blanket and then stretched himself out wordlessly beside her. She waited until he had made himself comfortable and then, for the first time in her life, Kate willingly tucked her head up under his chin and curled herself into the warmth of Richard Castle's body.


	5. Chapter 5

_**Author's Note: Thank you to everyone who has read/reviewed/alerted this story. And thank you for taking a chance on this story and taking the time to read it. I love hearing your feedback! As it stands now, I think this is the last chapter. I'd intended for it to be longer, but I started writing and I just let it all out - this is what came of it. I've left it open, so if I do decide to add to it I can, but as of now I don't plan to. So thank you all for reading, and I hope you enjoyed it!**_

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><p>Kate had been whole once.<p>

There had been a time when her smile came easily to her face, a time when her laughter was as frequent as the breaths she took and her heart was as light and free as a feather. Her world had been vibrant and beautiful, all possibility wrapped in promise and adventure. She had known exactly what she wanted from the world, she'd had a plan and path and a compass to lead her on her way.

Now, in the pre-dawn grayness of her bedroom, Kate wondered if that life had ever been more than a half remembered dream. Surely she hadn't always been adrift in this sea of grim realities and dark dreams; she hadn't always felt as shell-shocked and desperate as she did now.

Outside her window, the startling blast of a car horn ripped through the early morning din that was the closest Manhattan ever came to actual quiet. She wondered what the driver was honking at, and where the car was headed at such an early hour: just going to work, or just going home? Her thoughts followed the unseen car, and Kate wondered what kind of day lay ahead of the unknown driver. Was it just a normal day for that person? Just another frustrating commute through city traffic; just another thankless day at a despised job?

Did that person know that their whole life could be torn apart with no more sound than the ringing of a telephone? Did they know that there was no such thing as fate, or miracles, or fairness?

Did they know there was no such thing as justice?

Her musings ground to a halt there, and Kate was silently taken aback by her mental meanderings and what they had uncovered. Only once in her life had Kate truly believed herself to be destroyed; only once in her life had she felt such soul crushing darkness that it forced her to her knees: the death of her mother. That was the only time she knew of in her meager existence in this life that she had simply given up.

Now, she found herself wondering if she was about to repeat that terrible time. She found herself wondering if, and Heaven forbid it, if she lost her father as well what would be left to tether her to such a grim and painful life? What would she have left?

Castle shifted against her, the arm that was draped over the dip of her waist tightening and pinning her more closely against the broad plane of his chest. He smelled faintly of cologne and sleep and musk, a smell that made her heart trip a little over itself as she inhaled it. His was the smell of life. His was the smell of optimism and joy and vigor; the smell of the only man she had ever met who could, would, and did scale the wall she had so lovingly built around herself.

Unbidden, a memory of her mother came whispering into her mind then; a memory of her mother, perhaps a year before Kate had lost her, on a day that had been tougher than many of the others. _"How do you deal with it?" Kate had inquired, tracing the lines in her mother's face with her eyes. "Do what, Katie?" Johanna had responded, and Kate could hear the trace of dejectedness in her tone. "How do you deal with the world? There's so much cruelty and injustice; you see it every day. You always fight it, and it always comes back." Johanna, wise and warm as she had been, had just smiled at her daughter and took her by the hand as if she were just a toddler again. "The world is full of injustice, darling: everyone knows that. We stand and we fight and we do our best, but sometimes we lose. And on those days, I come home a little early and I kiss your father and I help you with your homework, and I feel better. I find that, on the days when you can't have faith in yourself, it's okay to put your faith in those you love." Kate had squeezed her mother's hand and said, "Why only on those days?" Johanna had kissed her daughter on the forehead and flashed the smile her husband and daughter had taken to calling The Smile of Stubborn Determination. "Always have faith in yourself first, Katie, above all others. You are an intelligent, beautiful woman with more strength than you realize. But there will be days when you doubt yourself; days when you think that maybe you've had all you can take. And on those days, it's okay to let someone else be strong for you."_

On the days when you can't have faith in yourself – days like today.

…Okay to put your faith in those you love.

Castle: her opposite, her complement, her … saving grace; her lighthouse in the storm.

What would she have if she lost her father?

She would have Castle.

"I love you."

The stillness of her room seemed to swallow her words, half mumbled into the material of his shirt. Her only assurance that she'd actually said the words aloud was the accompanying rumble in her chest as she said them.

As if in response, Castle stirred again and she felt his breath puff through her hair as his he pulled in a pocket of air. The arm around her waist loosened as he climbed his way into wakefulness with a yawn and a stretch. She watched him openly, not caring that he might catch her watching him or what he would see in her face if he did. Suddenly, all of the fears and insecurities Kate had been harboring – all of her reasons for keeping him at arms length – didn't seem quite as frightening as they had a few days ago. They were not unfounded, not really, but the events of the previous week made them seem less important. The obstacles didn't seem as daunting as they had the night before.

Kate did not believe in fate, and she had never claimed to be a religious person, but she did recognize a hint when she saw one. She did know when the relentless stream of life was giving her a rather deserved kick in the ass. She had gotten caught in the one trap that all of humanity seemed to share: the belief that she had all the time in the world; the belief that there would always be another chance, another tomorrow. She had lived most of the past decade of her life in just such a way: deferring what she couldn't accomplish today – or what she wasn't sure how to face – until "tomorrow".

"Kate?"

Castle's voice was husky; she liked it. She scooted her head up the pillow so that she could fix her hazel eyes on his azure ones, and she knew from his reaction that some of the intensity building within her chest was shining through in her expression.

"Did you get any sleep?"

"Some," She answered quietly, reaching up to brush away the little lock of hair that fell against his forehead

She felt certain that over the last few years she had cemented every detail of her partner's face in her memory, but her eyes darted over his face as though seeing him for the first time. Her hand trailed across his brow, to the laugh lines gathered at the corner of one eye; down the swell of his cheek, along his jaw line, and then her fingers splayed softly against his face while her thumb came to brush slowly over his bottom lip. She loved this face, the feel of fresh stubble that scratched ever so slightly at her fingertips.

"Kate?" He queried, his voice warm honey poured over thunder

There were so many questions in that tone, so much doubt and surprise in the openness off his crystalline eyes. She could see it there, reflected back upon her as if she were gazing at her reflection in a mirror. Was he afraid for her, or afraid of her? Did he think she'd finally lost her wits?

The warm pressure of her lips against his as she kissed him made her heart stutter. She didn't care about how she looked, or if her breath smelled bad, or anything else outside this moment. All she cared about was the intimacy of being wrapped in Richard Castle's arms, watching the light dance in his blue eyes as the world gained speed outside her window. All she cared about was that he was here, right next to her, where he belonged.

The kiss was gentle, lingering; an offer, a promise, a seal.

"I love you."

Not for the first time in their years together, Kate left him speechless. The first stirrings of a smile tugged at the corners of her lips as she watched his eyes widen and his chest still as he held his breath. A tangle of emotions flitted across his face, and she was content to watch them all. She could almost picture the synapses in his brain firing as he jumped from thought to thought, idea to idea, and that made her smile widen a bit more.

"I love you, Rick."

For the span of several heartbeats she thought he might argue; she thought he might start questioning her, refuting her words, or otherwise try to brush aside her statement. He seemed to settle on a different course of action, however, and his eyes darkened with what she had come to recognize as a challenge. Good.

"I love you, Castle," She said again

"I love you too, Kate," He answered immediately, confidently. Then, "Are you sure this is what you want? Are you sure you want to do this now?"

"Yes," She replied, no less confidently

She kissed him again, slowly at first and then with mounting passion as he responded in kind. That little flame that existed somewhere beneath the fear and confusion and grief guttered and then grew exponentially; as she lay there in her bed, every possible inch of her body pressed against her partner, Kate was reminded of life. She was bruised and vulnerable, but that did not make her any less alive. All the horrors of her life – of the world – did not detract from the love she felt now, in Castle's arms.

"There is no tomorrow, Castle," She whispered against his lips when they broke for air, "There is only today. There is only this."

"And what is this?" He asked gently

"You and me. Us. I can't be less than I am, Rick, and I'm a mess. I am free, and I am flawed; I am here," She said, pressing one elegant hand against his chest over his heartbeat, "In your heart. I was here from the start."

"How very poetic," He murmured, smiling and taking her hand in his own to press the palm to his lips, "Lucky for us, I'm good with messes. And I love you, Kate, flaws and all."

Kate had had a lot of time to think. She'd had about all she could take of fear and uncertainty and loss – what she needed now was hope, and love, and strength.

She needed Richard Castle, with her and for her and maybe even against her; she needed him to know that even if she had faith in nothing and no one else, she had faith in him. Faith that he would love and protect her, support her when she was weak and tease her when she was too serious. She needed him to know that he was her lighthouse, that she had faith that he would pull her through, no matter what the storm. The rocks would always be there, waiting to dash her upon their unforgiving edges – they would always be there, and so would he.

Richard Castle had never failed her.


End file.
